Thursday, August 28, 2008

out and about

i have been very busy with work the past few weeks. A nasty side effect of this is that i've had to endure the torments of sunshine, fresh air, and human interaction and leave my poor computer behind in the dark. O the woes of life.

I spent today scraping and painting the hull of the Lady Maryland with her crew in Georgetown. As a direct result of this, I shall be showering with steel wool. I'm sadly too claustrophobic for tyvek suits and safety glasses, and only direct orders could get me to wear a respirator. Things...around...face... eeurgh. don't like. The disposable outfits help you avoid absorbing the antifouling bottom paint through the skin, so by now i should have absorbed enough copper to spend like 27 cents.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

orzo with chopsticks

and eggplant in bed. Nothing says "single stateroom accommodation, shared kitchen facilities" quite like it.

I think my home hits bottom and leans to starboard at low tide. i typically go to sleep on level and wake up tilted about 5 degrees--not enough to make me fall out of bed but enough to make me hold on in my sleep. Life's little quirks.

When it comes to ranking ginger ales, Blenheim's is at the top, The Ginger People's ginger beer is second, Reed's is third, and all others go in the recycle bin. Mmm.

Sunday, August 17, 2008


I'm not claustrophobic in the typical sense of the word. I do not fear that the walls are closing in, nor do I feel that I'm drowning in small spaces...i just get very, very angry. I become a fiery ball of elbows and feet, kicking and throwing whatever I can find to get it away from me. Frequently this makes matters worse as now I'm not only still in a small, confined space, but all my stuff is broken.

My home is a small, confined space with lots of pointy-outy areas to hurt yourself on.

I need a cup of tea.

Saturday, August 09, 2008

go species!

I got a charge out of an Olympics-themed Visa advertisement which emphasized the unifying human element of the games. maybe its not the athletes' countries that make you cheer for them, but the fact that they're human, and hey, you're human too, so their accomplishments are your your the widest level of classification. We admit its a bit of a stretch, but hey, we're Visa--one of three globally unifying entities, the other two being death and taxes.

Friday, August 08, 2008


I have changed platforms. I am very happy.

Unrelated, but longer, side note: A recent Charlotte Observer column mentioned the columnist's child enjoying a spray park--quite literally a large concrete slab dotted with sprinklers and sprayers for the express purpose of running through. Think of it as that fountain at the mall you always wanted to jump in, but your mom wouldn't let you. All the water is chlorinated and recycled, so in these drought-ridden times it's a far more eco-friendly option than setting up a sprinkler in the yard for your runts to jump through. I would seriously love to find this park and run around in it...except perhaps after all the little sticky tripping hazards have gone home for dinner.

The thing is, when I was a kid I hated running through the sprinkler. It was absolutely no fun. Not the sprinkler bit--that was a delight. What made me sulk and sit it out was the boys. We typically set up a sprinkler when there were numerous kids to play in it--on neighborhood-friendly holidays such as July 4 and the like--and there were always dozens of kids who wanted to splash around. Most of the kids were fine with waiting our turns to run through it, but the neighborhood rascals would grow tired of that quickly and decide to turn this harmless garden tool into a weapon or a game. After ten minutes of jump-splash-whee the event suddenly turned into run-spray-argh or some bizarre, confusing team-based contest in which we were required, usually by an older, blond male, to run around or through the spray before the contraption tilted and hit a designated mark or person. It never made much sense, it wasn't fun for the girls, and I usually wound up getting an elbow to the face and storming off to cry in a dry lap. Well, initially dry.

The thing is, i've always hated games. I don't enjoy having an objective to my leisure time and I despise abiding by arbitrary rules. I've always sucked at video games for that reason--while most players are off trying to kill other players or obtain weapons, I'm contenting myself with exploring the game space and trying to talk to other characters. I usually wind up being killed within minutes. I tend to drive safely in racing games and was actually mocked ruthlessly for asking a game owner what button flipped indicator lights. Apparently blinkers are not commonly used in Mario Kart. I've never gotten the point of Mortal Kombat, found myself bored and lost in Doom, and only enjoyed X-Wing until the Imperial troops came into view and started firing. The star background was fun to fly around in...that is, after I figured out how to take off from the mothership. That sort of fiddly stuff is needlessly difficult. In any case, I don't understand physical or social competition outside of the biological imperative to earn a mate, and will never understand how an afternoon of playing in the sprinkler can be improved upon by adding rules. Particularly the common childhood rule of "if you're not playing the game, you can't play in here." Okay, fine. I'll take my sprinkler and go.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008


this evening I have spent an inordinate amount of time labeling my blog posts. In so doing, I have proven to myself that I'm a fairly predictable person with very little to say. Regardless, the blog is now fairly well compartmentalized. The only labels I have refrained from adding are "the Man, Man", "why people are stupid" and "existentialism" as these three themes recur with such frequency it would be a waste of a category. Labeling each post "why people are stupid" is akin to going through the dictionary and labeling entries "word."